


Long Road to Forgiveness

by sweetiepie08



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-03-17 14:36:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13661028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetiepie08/pseuds/sweetiepie08
Summary: Ninety six years is a long time to hold a grudge. Imelda carried her anger into the after-life and never thought she'd let go. He left her alone. He made her raise her daughter on her own. And worst of all, he forced Coco to grow up without her beloved Papa. No matter how much he begged, no matter what his excuse was, she would never forgive him.





	1. Chapter 1

It was supposed to be six months. He promised her. Six months to get his and Ernesto's names out there and he'd be back home. "I'll be back before you even know it! I'll send any money I make. I'll write so often, you'll get sick of me! You know how you say I talk too much? It'll be just like that except with letters! It'll be like I'm right here chewing your ear off as usual." That was what he said to her. She remembered biting her lip to keep the corners of her mouth from creeping upwards. "With our talent and our stunning good looks, we're sure to make it big," he said, flashing that goofy grin that disarmed her so many times before. "You and Coco deserve the best, and I want to give it to you, mi amore."

She refused to give him her blessing. She shut him out for days before he left. Why should she talk to him? He knew perfectly well how she felt. He should be down on his knees begging her forgiveness for even considering it. At some points he was. He put on his comedic dramatic flair, clutched her skirts, and begged her to say something to him. His antics made Coco giggle. It was a performance. He was always performing, even when it was just her. Why did he insist on putting on a show no matter what he was doing? Why couldn't he just say something sincere?

On the day he left, he finally did. Or rather, he sang it.

Coco didn't want him to go either. She took one look at his bags and ran crying into her room. He tried for hours to coax her out. He sat outside her door, talking to her, trying to make her laugh, and playing softly on his guitar. He refused to budge, no matter how much impatient blustering Ernesto blew his way. He wasn't going to leave without saying goodbye to his little girl.

"Coco, I wrote a new song just for you," he coo-ed through the door. "It'll be our special song. I'll only play it for you. But you have to let me in. I want you to sing it with me." She opened the door a crack and ran back to her bed. He let himself in the rest of the way. He began to play, and Imelda took her place just outside of the door.

"Remember me, though I have to say goodbye,"

"Remember me, don't let it make you cry…"

She looked it. Coco was hiding under the covers, but peaked out just enough to watch her Papa. He played it no less than five times. On the second time, she came out from under the covers. On the third, she stopped crying. On the fourth, she smiled through the tears drying on her cheeks. And on the fifth, she sang along. She reached out and held her Papa's face.

Hector put aside the guitar and scooped his daughter up in his arms. "I love you, Coco," he said gently to her. "I want you to always know that. Everything I do, it's to take care of you. I know you can't understand now, but Papa has to go to make a better life for you. You won't miss me. I'll send you so many letters, you'll have to build a whole other room for them." He pecked her on the cheek and she laughed. "I'll be back before your next birthday, mi vida."

Coco grabbed his face again and did a perfect imitation of Imelda's stern-face. "Promise," she demanded.

"I promise," he said, smiling.

She pulled his face in closer and looked him deep in the eyes. "Double promise."

"I double promise, triple promise, a hundred times promise," he declared.

Coco gave him a satisfied nod and hugged him around the neck. Hector smiled tenderly and returned the hug. "I'll sing my song every night for you, mi vida. I hope you'll be my duet partner." He kissed her on the forehead, and his eyes went to Imelda, who now stood in the doorway. He walked over to her and placed Coco in her arms. "I promise the same to you, mi amore," he said. He reached out and wiped the tears off her cheeks while his own eyes began glistening. "When Coco turns five, I'll be right here. A hundred times, I promise." He moved in to kiss her, but she turned her head. She didn't let his heartbroken expression sway her. If he didn't want them to cry, he wouldn't leave them.

He lingered a moment, then moved away from her. She closed her eyes. She refused to watch him walk out the door. She listened to him shuffle across the room and pick up his bags. She listened as he opened the door and Ernesto complained about how long he'd been waiting. Finally she listened as Hector shut the door for the last time.

[-]

He was supposed to be gone for six months, and for the first five, it was just like he said. They got letters nearly every day, to the point that Imelda worried he might be spending too much on postage. "He'd better not be skipping meals just to send us these letters," she found herself mumbling one day while picking up the mail. She couldn't help but smirk and roll her eyes. Even miles away he still found ways to bug her.

A new letter from Papa was like Christmas every day for Coco. She'd learned to recognize her Papa's handwriting and would squeal with delight when she found his envelopes. "Open it now, Mama!" she begged. "Read it! Read it!"

"In a minute, quierda."

"No, now! It's from Papa!"

Imelda knew she'd get no peace until she opened the letter. She'd sit down with Coco in her lap, set aside the money he'd sent, and read the letter. He wrote the same way he talked. His sentences were full of charm, wit, and personality. They felt his emotions in every word whether he was excited, proud, exhausted, or homesick. He also included poems which Imelda was sure he was turning into songs. They could be silly,or heartfelt, or downright beautiful. She wished he'd included the sheet music for them. She would have liked to sing them for Coco.

As soon as the letter was finished, Coco would drag Imelda over to the table so that they could write their letter. The first page belonged to Coco. Coco would dictate whatever she wanted to say and Imelda would write that down. She then let Coco draw a picture on the bottom while she got started on her own letter. The first few times, she was very cold and only delivered basic news in the most detached way possible. She was still mad and wanted him to know. But, as the weeks went by and he proved his promises of writing often weren't an exaggeration, she began to soften toward him and her writing reflected that.

But then, promises began to get broken. He promised her six months and toward then end of that six months he tells her he'll be a bit longer. "Ernesto and I were invited to do a few more shows here. It'll push back our schedule by about a week, but I'll still be home soon." A few more shows turned into a few more cities. And a few more cities turned into a few more months. Still, he promised, by Coco's birthday, he'd be there.

His letters grew less frequent and his tone grew more and more exhausted. This gave her hope, he'd finally run out of steam and come home. But then, one day, the letters stopped. Coco was the first to notice. His letters went down to 2 a week at this point. A sparse number compared to the abundance they received at the beginning. They went a whole week without a letter and Coco asked every day, "Where's Papa's letter? When's he coming home?" Imelda's heart hurt all the time. At first, she was afraid for him. What could have happened to him that prevented him from writing? She imagined the worst; that Hector and Ernesto got robbed and were lying dead in a ditch somewhere. She went to the De la Cruz family and asked if they heard anything. Ernesto only wrote about once a month, but it just so happened that they got a letter just a few days ago. No mention of Hector.

Fear turned to anger. If Ernesto was okay, then where was Hector? She wrote to Ernesto. No reply. She tried again and again. She decided that if she wanted to find her husband, she was going to be as relentlessly obnoxious as her husband. Still, she never got a reply.

Then came the most grievous crime. It was Coco's fifth birthday, and there was no sign of Hector. Coco spent it in tears, crying herself into fits of hiccups. "Where is Papa?" she'd say when she could catch her breath. "He promised. He promised. A hundred times." She finally cried herself into exhaustion and Imelda put her to bed, gifts unopened and cake uneaten.

Imelda's heart hardened toward Hector that day. Her anger festered as she stared at cold, empty space in bed beside her and listened to Coco work herself into another crying fit in the next room. You'd better be dead, Hector, she thought. If not, I'll kill you myself. She brought Coco into their room and laid her down on Hector's side of the bed. No more tears, she told herself and she soothed her daughter back to sleep. No more wasting time. If it's just going to be the two of us, I'm going to build the best life possible for the two of us.


	2. Chapter 2

"Make sure she has a good lunch and don't give her any candy before dinner. I don't want you spoiling her appetite." Her brothers frowned and stuffed their hands in their pockets where she knew they kept a stash of treats for their favorite niece. "And whatever you do, don't take her to the Plaza. I don't want her around any of those musicians." She spat out the word like it was a filthy insult.

The last thing she wanted was for Coco to go anywhere near Mariachi Plaza. They had to pass every so often to go to the market and she dreaded it every time. It held painful memories for the both of them. It was the place Imelda met Hector and it was where she took Coco to watch Papa and Tio Ernesto play. Now, Coco was too easily upset by that place. She'd spot a thin man with a guitar in his hands, run up to him, and burst into tears when she saw that it was not her Papa. Imelda started taking long detours which swung wide of the Plaza just to avoid Coco getting her heart broken all over again.

But today, she had no choice. She had urgent business to attend to in the Plaza. After a little over a year on the road, Ernesto De la Cruz made his triumphant return. He was Santa Cecilia's new golden son. He'd gone out into the world to achieve his dream and he landed a deal with a big time music producer in Mexico City. He came back for one last concert in his hometown before leaving for good. The whole town was planning to attend, including Imelda. Not to hear his music. She'd closed her ears to the stuff months ago. No, she wanted answers.

The Plaza was colorfully decorated and packed with people, waiting to hear Ernesto's rumored brilliant songs. They were all ready to cheer their hometown hero into celebrity. Imelda was the only one not excitedly looking for a spot with a good view of the gazebo. She scanned the Plaza looking for him. Her eyes landed on a tent set off to the side, guarded by two barrel-chested men.

Imelda marched right up to the tent, staring down the guards all the while. The guards gave her odd looks, like they were expecting her to stop any moment and couldn't understand why she didn't. They shot warning glares at her and she glared back. She could have sworn the man on the left began to sweat. She marched right past them, one shaking in his boots and the other staring in utter bewilderment. She heard a weak, "uh ma'am?" but paid it no mind.

She opened the flap to see Ernesto beginning to take a guitar out of its case. "Imelda!" he exclaimed, snapping the case shut again. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" she snapped. "I've been in Santa Cecilia raising my daughter for that last fourteen months while you traipsed around Mexico with my husband. I can't help but notice Hector's name isn't anywhere on this concert of yours. Where is he?"

His face went white for a moment. He took a quick breath and melted into sorrow. "Oh Imelda," he moaned as he dropped down into a chair and buried his face in his hands. "I'm so, so sorry. I should have told you sooner."

Imelda was unmoved. "Then you should have answered my letters."

"I know, I know. This is just not the sort of thing you want to tell through the mail." He took a moment to collect himself before getting up again. "Hector and I have parted ways," he said straightening his tie.

"That much is obvious," she scolded. "Now where is he?"

"I'm afraid our Hector is not the man we thought he was. Or at least, he isn't anymore. You see, the road changed him. Things were fine for the first couple of weeks. We'd go to town, we'd play, and we'd go to the local cantina afterward to get some buzz going. You remember how charming he could be, right? How he loved to meet new people? I thought he'd be our key to schmoozing a music producer. Unfortunately, he was more interested in schmoozing someone else.

One night, he spent the whole evening flirting with a beautiful young woman. I thought he was just making a new friend like in every town, but this time, he left with her. When he returned to our hotel the next morning, he was beside himself with regret. I hoped it'd only be a one-time thing, but I was wrong. It happened again and again, in town after town. Finally, I sat him down and I said 'Hector, this needs to stop. You have a wife and daughter to think about.' He confided in me that he was lonely. That he did not feel you supported his dream. He started to wonder if he rushed into marriage. I told him, 'You need to figure it out, mi hermano. What you are doing is unfair to Imelda and to Coco.' I think he thought it over for a few days but, one morning, I woke up and he was gone. He left you a letter and a note for me asking that I mail it to you. He said he was too cowardly to do it himself. Sadly, I could not bring myself to do it either."

She felt her heart grow colder and colder as Ernesto told his story. Hector, her Hector, a womanizing cheat? She couldn't believe it. She remembered the day she met him. He was just a gangly 16 year old back then. He and Ernesto were playing in a talent competition in Mariachi Plaza. One might have expected him to wilt next to his conventionally handsome best friend, but no. He had a smile that could light up the night and a personality to match. He didn't put on the macho act which seemed so popular among other boys their age. Instead, he relied on cleverness, charm, and good humor. He was well aware that he wasn't anywhere near as suave as he acted and played it up as a joke. That was what attracted her to him more than his smile, or his wit, or even his music. He knew who he was. And she thought she knew him too.

That snake. That pig. That heartless, worthless piece of trash. How could he leave her and Coco just to chase a few skirts? Did they really mean so little to him? Did he really think he could replace them with a life of debauchery? He'd see soon enough how empty that was. And if he ever came crawling back to her… And for Ernesto, to leave them in the dark so long… She could have wasted less time worrying about him. "Where is this letter?" she demanded, finally finding words through her rage.

Ernesto put on a sheepish grin and nervously tapped his fingers together. "I'm afraid some things get lost in travel."

She slapped him solidly across the face. "You men are cowards, the both of you."

"He did leave one more thing." He opened the guitar case again and lifted out Hector's prized instrument.

Imelda slowly took it in her hands and gazed at her reflection in the shiny, white surface. "This…this was my wedding gift to Hector." The guitar was just plain white when she bought it. She decorated it herself. He nearly cried when she gave it to him and he laughed when he spotted the golden tooth on the skull. Ah, muy guapo, eh? But not even half as beautiful as you, mi amore. He said he'd treasure it forever. He promised. But what good was that? He promised to come back. He promised to love her and be faithful to her. He promised her a great many things. Promises…promises are worthless.

"Take it," Ernesto insisted. "You should have it." His smile was gentle but there was an impatient, greedy glint in his eye. He looked at the guitar the way he used to sometimes look at Hector. That look used to worry her before she knew who the real scoundrel was.

"To hell with it!" she shouted, shoving the guitar back into his hands. "To hell with you! And to hell with Hector! You all deserve to burn!"

"I'm so sorry Imelda." He set the guitar aside and covered Imelda's hand with his. "His behavior was deplorable. It was as much a shock to me as it was to you. If there's anything I can do…"

She ripped her hand away and gave him a deadly scowl. "You have done more than enough," she spat. Without another word, she turned on her heels and stormed out.

Imelda walked back to her brothers' house surrounded by a cloud of fury. Crowds seemed to part in fear as she passed. No one got in her way. No one dared. Her brothers easily picked up her mood when she arrived. She told them that she would explain later and that was the end of the conversation. When Coco ran out to greet her, she forced her anger down. She did not want Coco to see her this way. But Coco could still tell something was wrong as they walked home together. Imelda told her that she had a headache.

When they finally made it home, Imelda told Coco that she needed to lay down and went to her room. Finally, alone, she was able to let it out. She grabbed a pillow off the bed, buried her face into it, and screamed every curse, every insult, every foul, venomous word she had for him. It wasn't enough.

She threw the pillow aside and went for the closet. Inside, she found an old mariachi suit Hector left behind. It didn't fit him anymore, but he insisted on keeping it. He was wearing it the night they met and he once cared for it like a sacred relic. The sentiment made her smile at the time. Now she knew it was a lie. Just another performance.

She took the suit out of the closet and began tearing it apart. She ripped open the seams, threw off the buttons, mangled the embroidery, and only imagined what she'd do if Hector himself were here before her. When the suit was nothing but a pile of scraps, she set it aside. Her furious energy was almost depleted now, but there was still one more thing she needed to do.

About a month ago, she took the family photo off of the mantel. It hurt to look at and she was tired of hurting, but she couldn't get rid of it at the time. Some small part of her that still hoped that Hector might return made her keep it. She'd stuffed in the bottom of the trunk at the end of her bed, leaving open the possibility of putting it up again. That hope was dead now. She rummaged through her trunk for it and pulled it out. She broke the frame in her rush to get at the photo, but it didn't matter now. She'd get it a new one. All that mattered was the photo.

She looked at his face. He wasn't wearing one of his famous grins. It was his calmer, gentler smile. It was the one he wore when he rocked baby Coco to sleep or when she caught him just gazing at her. It brought forth a memory of a night when she woke up and found he wasn't in bed. She got up to look for him and found him in Coco's room. Apparently, she'd had a nightmare. Hector sat on Coco's bed and hugged her to his chest. With his soft smile, he explained that if there were monsters in the closet, it was because they enjoyed licking the bottoms of shoes. "Have you ever noticed that you shoes get worn down in some spots? That is from the monsters. It tastes like candy to them. They are too shy to ask for shoes, though. So, they sneak in at night to have a snack. Don't worry, they won't bother you and are very considerate. They never steal the shoes; only lick them." His odd sort of logic seemed to sooth her, but she still asked him to stay with her. Imelda found them again the next morning, Coco still tucked in her father's arms and Hector content despite having barely slept.

How could this have left them? How could a few months away change him so much? How he have fooled her for so long? Was it all a lie? Was it always a lie? His love? His devotion? His smile? She ripped his face from the photo and tossed it aside as carelessly as he tossed them aside. She was about to rip off the guitar too, but she stopped herself. It was as much her guitar as it was his. It was her handiwork which made it so distinct. She'd always been good with her hands. She'd use them to build a new life for her and Coco. But no more guitars, she thought, folding the photo so that the instrument was out of view. No more music.

She saw now how much time she wasted worrying and waiting. She saw that he wasn't worth waiting for. And she saw what she must do to provide for her daughter. But she didn't see Coco watching her though a crack in the door. And she didn't see later, after she went to start dinner, that Coco snuck into her room and stole the ripped of photo of her father's face.


	3. Chapter 3

Imelda was strong. There was no doubt about that. But there was one thing she was never strong enough to do. She could never tell Coco that her father abandoned her. Perhaps it would have been kinder to tell her rather than let her cling to her hope that he was coming back. But every time Coco asked when Papa was coming home, Imelda couldn't tell her "never." It would crush her and Imelda simply couldn't deliver that heartbreak to her little girl.

Over time, Coco brought up her father less and less until she stopped asking completely. She grew accustomed to her life with Imelda. There wasn't much money at first, and Imelda went to great lengths to make sure Coco still had everything she needed. There were nights where Imelda went without much, if any dinner so that Coco could have a full meal. She borrowed from her brothers and kept a meticulous record of every last coin, determined to pay it back in full.

Imelda still had friends who were dancers and for a time, she scraped together money by repairing their costumes. Shoes became her specialty. Her friends told their fellow dancers of her handiwork, and soon, she opened a shoe-repair business. She worked on every type of shoe and became more skilled which each repair. Her single-minded determination to build a good life for Coco drove her to relentlessly practice her craft. Eventually, she began making and selling shoes while still offering repair services on the side. Rivera shoes became renowned for their quality and business boomed. Gone were the nights when she pretended to be busy so that Coco wouldn't notice that she wasn't eating dinner. Finally, she was granted the simple pleasure of sitting down for a meal with her daughter.

She was able to move her business from her living room to a bigger venue with a proper workshop and a large living area for her family. She paid her brothers back double and invited them to join the family business. She taught them everything she knew about shoes and, when Coco came home from school, Imelda would teach her too. There was only one rule. No music was allowed to be played in the workshop.

Imelda still offered dance shoes despite the music ban. It was where her business started after all and it brought in a good amount of income in the beginning. Although, she didn't like the way Coco would eye the dancers when they came to pick up their orders. She especially didn't like catching Coco trying on the shoes. So, she made a new rule. Coco was not allowed to work on the dance shoes. The excuse she made was that custom dance shoes were too complicated and Coco needed more experience to work on them. Her brothers would side-eye her on this point and raise their matching eyebrows, but she felt she owed them no explanation. Coco was her daughter and it was her business and she could do as she liked.

The true reason came out one day when Coco was 12. Imelda sent her out on a delivery after school and she hadn't returned for super. Imelda feared the worst and set out, determined to break down every door in Mexico until she had her daughter back. Her fury was redirected, however, when she found Coco not an hour later in Mariachi Plaza. While she barreled about town in a cloud of anger and worry, Coco was there, dancing with her classmates without a care in the world.

"Coco!" Imelda shouted from across the Plaza. Her voice put a stop to the music and everything around turned silent and still. Coco stood in the center of it all, trying to hide her face. Imelda marched up to her daughter, people parting as she did so.

"Mama, I was just…"

Imelda only had to look at Coco to silence her weak excuse. "Come. Home. Now."

Coco looked around at her classmates who all stared at her. "Mama, please. You're embarrassing me."

"Embarrassing you? Oh, I haven't even gotten started. Are you going to come home, or do I need to drag you?" Imelda looked down at her daughter and spotted a pair custom-made Rivera dance shoes on her feet; a pair that had mysteriously gone missing a week before. Imelda pointed sharply at Coco's feet. "Is that the Romero order?" she shouted.

Coco hung her head in defeat. "I'm coming Mama," she said, beginning to shuffle foreword.

Imelda held up her hand to stop her. "Shoes off first."

"But Mama…"

"Now!"

Coco groaned and unceremoniously kicked off her shoes. She then went to the bench where she left her school bag and put on her own shoes. Imelda didn't care that the entire plaza was watching. It was Coco's choice to steal the shoes and it was Coco's choice to go dancing when her mother expressly forbade it.

The walk home boiled with tension. Imelda rehearsed over and over in her head what she was going to say as soon as they got home. She decided on a punishment and a way to prevent this from happening again. No daughter of hers was going to hang around those good-for-nothing musicians. She raised Coco to be sensible and she was going to make sure Coco stayed that way.

"Mama, let me explain," Coco said, as soon as they stepped into the workshop.

"No. I don't need you to explain what I saw with my own eyes. I was worried sick when you didn't come home and I find you there, dancing, without a single thought about your Mama. You let me wander around town thinking you were hurt or worse, but that didn't matter. Not if you could have your fun."

"Mama, I'm sorry." Coco pleaded. "I wasn't thinking."

"Exactly. You weren't thinking," Imelda snapped. "I might have sent the police out looking for you. Anyone else would have since you're a thief as well." She held up the stolen shoes and Coco looked down in shame.

"Are those?" Oscar asked, pointing.

"The Romero order we've been looking for all week? They most certainly are." Imelda answered before turning her attention back to Coco. "And to think, you kept silent while your uncles and I ran around frantic looking for them. I had to give senorita Romero her money back and make her a replacement. Do you know how much custom shoes cost? How much work goes into them?"

Coco looked away and mumbled "No…"

"No, but you're about to find out," Imelda said, putting the shoes down on a work bench. "Starting tomorrow, you will work in the shop every day to pay me back double. You will come straight home after school, finish any school work you have, and go straight to work until supper. After supper you will go straight to your room. Every peso you earn will go straight to me. Then, for two week after you've paid me back, you will follow the same routine. You will not see your friends. You will not go out alone. And, you will never go near the plaza again."

"Never? Mama, that's insane!" Coco shouted, getting the courage back to look into her Mama's eye. "You can't keep me away forever!"

"I can as long as I'm alive. You know how I feel about music. I forbid it."

"You can't forbid music. It's everywhere. It's impossible!" Coco argued.

"They said it was impossible for a single mother to build a successful business, but I did it anyway," Imelda retorted. "Don't doubt me, Coco. I am very familiar with doing the impossible."

Coco crossed her arms and looked away again, face twisted with anger. "Papa would have let me," she grumbled.

The room went silent except for the clang of a dropped tool. "What was that?" Imelda asked, fuming.

"I said, Papa would have let me!" Coco shouted. "He would have encouraged me! He wouldn't have tried to make me hate something I love!"

Imelda was rendered speechless for a moment, but she quickly recovered. "After all I've done to support you, you dare mention him? Where is he? What has he done for you? Nothing!"

"He would have if he was here!" Coco argued back, her eyes brimming with tears. "He loved me!"

"I'm here! And I love you! He's gone, Coco. He left us. You need to forget him." She went in for a hug but Coco pushed her away.

"He didn't leave! Something happened to him, I know it. But you don't care. You never even tried to look for him."

"I did try! I wasted too much time chasing that pendejo. I found Ernesto the year after he left. He told me all about how your father ran off."

"I don't believe that! Ernesto's a liar! He plays Papa's guitar, he sings Papa's songs, and says they're all his!"

Imelda paused. Did he? She knew he'd gained celebrity status since he left Santa Cecilia, but she didn't pay attention to his career. He was a family friend once upon a time, but he cut ties with almost everyone since then, probably too busy with his new movie star friends. He only further cemented her belief that musicians eventually abandon everyone to chase fame. Whatever the case was, it didn't matter now. "This isn't about Ernesto and this isn't about your Papa," she said, getting back on topic. "This is about you disobeying me. Your punishment is set and we won't discuss it further." She gave Coco her stern look which meant the conversation was over.

"You're crazy!" Coco exploded. She turned on her heals and stormed out "I wish Papa were here instead!"

The twins gasped and Imelda was left sputtering with fury. "Go to your room!"

"That's where I'm going!" Coco slammed the door and she & Imelda barely spoke for five days.

Coco went through with her punishment, but did not directly address her mother. Imelda would only remind Coco to do her school work and start working, which Coco would answer with a grunt or a huff. Oscar and Filipe acted as go-betweens for the two of them. They'd take turns talking to either Coco or Imelda, trying to coax an apology out of at least one of them. However, both mother and daughter were matched in their stubbornness. Finally, one day Imelda asked Coco how school was, and Coco answered "fine." Imelda began speaking more casually to Coco and Coco began using multi-word answers again.

Neither ever outright apologized, but they did reconcile through their actions. By the end of Coco's punishment, the Rivera home was more-or-less back to normal with the exception that Rivera Shoes no longer offered dance shoes. However, there was something of an unspoken arrangement between the mother and daughter. Coco did not bring up her father, and Imelda pretended not to hear Coco singing to his picture every night. Coco did not argue with her mother's music ban, and Imelda did not say anything about the dance-induced scuffs on Coco's shoes. Coco followed the rules at home. Imelda silently allowed Coco to keep her Papa's memory in her life.


	4. Chapter 4

Imelda died surrounded by family. She was diagnosed with late-stage cancer. The doctors gave her three months. She made it six. She had no time for dying. There was too much to do. She had to make sure her business and her family would survive without her. She knew Coco had no interest in the shoemaking business, but luckily her brothers did. Oscar and Filipe agreed to take on the burden Coco never wanted.

Coco married a man who became an excellent shoemaker. It was one of Imelda's conditions when he asked for her blessing. She knew that Coco met him on one of her secret dancing excursions and told him that if he wanted to marry Coco, he had to become part of the family. This meant he had to respect the music ban and join the family business. He told her, for Coco, he would do anything, and he stayed true to her word. He took to shoemaking with gusto and became a specialist in creating wingtips. This satisfied Imelda, though she imagined Coco would have married him whether she approved or not.

Coco was denied her first love of music, but was content to act as a constant, loving guardian over the little ones. She positively glowed as a mother and later a grandmother. She was gentle and warm, and even encouraged a bit of mischief when the mood suited her. But Coco learned a lot from Imelda and was no pushover. Strong, stubborn blood ran through the Rivera line, which meant Coco had to settle many fights between her daughters. Elena and Victoria were like fire and ice. Elena would get into a flaming passion about something and Victoria would coldly rebuff her concerns. It was Coco would knock them to their senses and remind them they were sisters. Imelda watched with a knowing smirk as her rebellious daughter became the authority. "Ay Mama, I sound like you," she'd say every time after dealing out a scolding.

Imelda would simply laugh and reply, "Now you know why."

Now, as she laid in bed, her last moments upon her, she wasn't afraid. Her family surrounded her. Her brothers stood on one side while Coco sat on the other. Julio and his sister, Rosita, stood behind Coco, proving that she'd still have support after Imelda passed. Imelda looked at her granddaughters at the end of the bed. She chuckled as she thought about how, not long ago, the sisters were small and would nudge each other for elbow room at the dinner table. "Are you alright, Mama?" Coco asked, stroking her hand.

"Yes, m'ija. I'm alright."

"Mama, I…" Coco's voice caught in her throat. In her eyes, Imelda could see everything. Her love, her respect and admiration, her regret for every stupid fight that no longer mattered... "Mama…" Coco tired again. "There's so much I never told you. So much I was too stubborn to say." The tears came and choked the words from her again.

Imelda shook her head and smiled up at her daughter. "It's alright, Coco. You don't have to say anything. I know."

"I love you, Mama," Coco managed through the tears.

"I love you too, Coco."

Coco smiled. She closed her eyes, stroked her mother's hand, and hummed a familiar tune. The rest of the family was stunned into silence, but for once, Imelda didn't protest. She kept her eyes on her daughter's face as they slowly began to close. "Coco," she whispered as she drew her last breath. "That's beautiful."

[-]

Imelda could still hear the tune as she opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry and she had to blink a few times to bring everything into focus. She found herself lying in a hospital-like bed. At the end of the bed sat a skeleton man playing a guitar. For some reason, she wasn't afraid. He had a familiar, comforting presence about him. It was his smile, she thought. He wore a peaceful smile that had the power to calm storms. He looked as if all was right with the world so long as he held a guitar in his hands. On that guitar, he played the same song Coco hummed to her.

A skeleton woman passed by the bed and paused when she heard the music. "That's so sweet," she said, admiring the skillful way his fingers manipulated the guitar strings.

"Gracias," the man replied. That voice. No… after all this time?

"It's a lovely cover."

He suddenly stopped. His eyes flung open and he gripped the fretboard to stop the strings. The woman walked away and he sighed and shook his head as he began to play again. "Ah, you're awake," he said, apparently just noticing her eyes had opened. "Welcome, mi amore."

Him. It was him.

"I've been waiting so long for you."

He's been- He's been waiting? He's been waiting?! How dare he? After everything he put her through. How could even presume to know what waiting felt like? Fury catapulted Imelda out of bed. She ripped the guitar out of his hands and smashed it repeatedly against the wall.

"Imelda, please," he stammered, still reeling from the shock. "I don't understand."

"Ma'am," another woman came rushing up to them and stepped between Hector and Imelda. "Ma'am, my name is Josefina. I am a counselor with the Department of Family Reunions. I realize that the transition can be shocking and you may not recognize him, but our records indicate that this is your husband." The counselor took Hector by the shoulders and presented him to Imelda. Hector gave her a sheepish grin and a small wave.

Imelda scowled and jabbed what was left of the fretboard at Hector like a sword. "That is the husband who left me 50 years ago."

Gasps erupted from the surrounding beds and the counselor stepped away from Hector. A woman at an administrative desk turned off her telenovela and turned to watch them. He looked around at all the judgmental eyes on him and stammered out, "I… I didn't think you'd still be angry about that."

Imelda slapped him in the face with the end of the fretboard and watched his head spin all the way around. "Of course you didn't. Just like didn't think about me or Coco when you went off with Ernesto. Just like you didn't think about us when you never came back. You're selfish. Just like always."

"Imelda, when I didn't come back…" He paused. His face fell to something close to bitterness. She'd never seen that expression before, not on his face. "Ernesto didn't tell you, did he?"

"Ernesto told me everything I needed to hear." She shot her glare over to the counselor and jabbed the end of the fretboard in her direction. "You! Get this man out of my sight. I don't want him here."

"It's probably best if you go," the counselor said, nudging Hector away.

Hector ignored the counselor and stepped forward, pleading with Imelda now. "Imelda please, just let me explain."

"No, I don't want to hear another word from you. I want nothing to do with you," she said, shaking the broken fretboard threateningly at him. When he didn't make a move, she threw it at him. "Get out! Get out!"

"Sir, I don't want to have to call security…" the counselor warned.

The people in surrounding bed all murmured and watched to see what might happen next. "Alright, I'll go," Hector said, finally turning toward the door. He took a few steps and looked over his shoulder. "Imelda..."

"Leave," she growled in a voice that chased so many away.

He didn't flinch. He didn't even look frightened, only sad. "I love you," he uttered and something tugged at the corner of his lips. "Haven't got to say that in a while."

He turned and walked away. Imelda sat down on her bed and tried to calm herself. She didn't have a heart to pound in her chest anymore, but she felt it anyway. The counselor began apologizing for the confusion, but Imelda didn't listen. She only watched as the skeleton who she once called her husband shambled out the door.

She looked at her hands and noted how white they looked compared to his yellowed bones. She also could have sworn she saw duct tape holding one of his arms together. Despite this, despite his haggard appearance, something seemed off about him. He didn't look quite the way she'd imagined he would. (Not that she spent too much time thinking about that pendejo. He'd just pop into her head from time to time and she'd wonder how he looked as an old man. It was natural curiosity. That was all). His voice didn't turn rougher with age. He didn't have any grays in his hair. He kept his goatee exactly the way she remembered it. That was the problem. It'd been 50 years. He shouldn't look the way she remembered him. And yet, he did. He just didn't look all that…old.


	5. Chapter 5

                Imelda didn’t want to think about it. There was too much to do and she didn’t need the distraction. She was the first one to cross over to the other side. She needed to get everything ready for when the rest of her family died. The Department of Reestablishment helped her find a place to set up shop again. She tried her best to make her home look exactly like the one she built in Santa Cecelia. A few things were off about it. For one thing, Santa Cecelia had a warm color pallet of soft yellows and oranges while the Land of the Dead was splashed with color everywhere. Another was the vertical build of everything. She’d grown used the little piece of the world she carved out for her family and wasn’t interested in having upstairs or downstairs neighbors. In the end, she settled for a couple bottom levels of a building. The ground floor was the workshop while the upper 2 levels was their living area. There were a few perks to being on the bottom floor. For one thing, it made it easy for customers to visit. For another, she didn’t have the uneasy feeling that her business might one day topple over. Her favorite part, however, was the courtyard.

                In life, she loved her courtyard. It was the place where her family gathered to relax after a hard day’s work in the shop. She had fond memories of family meals with her daughter and granddaughters. She and her brothers would sit out at night and have drink after the children went to bed. Sometimes, she’d just quietly pet her cat, Pepita, and watch the stars. She hoped that one day, after her family members lived their lives and crossed over, they could do it all again. Although, she doubted Pepita, now a massive jaguar alebrije, could still curl up in her lap.

                It took her a few weeks to set up her workshop again. It was thankfully a peaceful few weeks all things considered. Sure, she had to deal with gathering supplies, putting machines together, and getting the word out to her old customers that she was back, but she did so without anyone to bother her. She was worried a certain husband of hers might rear his stupid, grinning head again. She thought she scared him off in the Center for New Arrivals, but she couldn’t be sure. He never was one to be intimidated. She remembered how unafraid he was when he first approached her. He was nervous, he later told her, in the way a schoolboy was when talking to a pretty girl, but not intimidated. So many other men were threatened by her independence, but not him. He smiled and joked about the macho act his peers put on. He went so far as to perform an exaggerated impression of her other suitors, deepening his voice and flexing his barely-there muscles. To her surprise, he made her laugh.

                No, he certainly wasn’t afraid of her. He never was. But then, why did he leave? Was it simply because she asked?

                This thought didn’t have time to warm her, however. The day before she was to open her shop, he turned up again. She was in the middle of putting up the sign for her zapateria. Her ladder wobbled as she struggled to align the sign with the hooks in the wall. Just when she thought she might fall, she felt someone below hold the ladder steady. She breathed a sigh of relief, put up her sign, and began her climb down. “Gracias señor.”

                “No es problema. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

                She froze mid-descent. That voice. _He_ was at the bottom of the ladder.

                She jumped the rest of the way down and turned to glare at him. He simply grinned and held a bouquet of five vivid purple morning glories. He remembered her favorite, that bastard.

                “I wanted to congratulate you on opening your shop,” Hector said, offering her the flowers.

                She pushed the bouquet back into his chest. “Don’t touch my ladder,” she huffed, shoving past him.

                “I can’t tell you how proud I was when I heard you opened your own shop,” he said, following her. “I was so worried what you’d do once I was no longer around to provide for you and Coco, but I always knew you were a power source unto yourself.”

                She cast a glare over her shoulder. _I wouldn’t have needed to if I didn’t have such a worthless husband._

“And for the time,” he continued unimpeded. “I hear women these days can vote and got to college and all sorts of things. It’s about damn time too, if you ask me. But when I was alive? I heard how successful you were and I thought, ‘Dios mio, my wife is a queen, a diosa, of course she can do anything she wants.’”

                She felt the fury burning in her stomach. The nerve of that man. So that’s why he returned after all these years. She was successful, so he came back to leech off of her. “Is that what this about?” she snapped.

“Excuse me?”

                “You heard your poor wife has money now, so you come crawling back. Is that it?”

                His mouth fell open. “I…no that’s not what this at all,” he stammered out. She rolled her eyes and stormed back into the house. He followed after her. “I’m simply happy for you. I married an amazing woman and I’m proud of you.”

                “Not amazing enough for you when we were alive, though, right?” she slammed the door before he could get in.

                “Please, just let me explain,” he begged, appearing at her window.

                “Ernesto explained.” She slammed the shutters in his face.

                “Ernesto lied,” he shouted from the other side. “I don’t know what he told you, but he lied.”

                Oh this was rich. She flung open the shutters again and looked his dead in the eyes. “If you don’t know what he told me, how do you know he lied?”

                “Because he lied to me,” he answered. “He lied about a great many things.” Imelda rolled her eyes and began closing the shutters, but he stuck his hand between them “Please just talk to me,” he begged, trying to hold one shutter open. “Did you even know I was dead?”

                Imelda paused and he froze. The true answer was no, and in that moment they both knew it. The realization washed over them and their expressions shifted simultaneously. Imelda hated it. She experienced this before, this temporary melding of minds. It reminded her of a time when she and Hector worked as a well-oiled machine, going through their day, parenting Coco, and then of course, the music… It brought her comfort, once. She took it as proof she and Hector were perfectly matched. Now, it served as a painful reminder of what they once had, of what could have been.

                Determined to shut out this feeling, she gathered the strength to pull the shutter from his grasp and slam it closed.

                “You didn’t know I was dead,” he muttered from the other side of the window. “That’s it, isn’t it?  That’s why you never put my photo up… Ernesto must have…” A frantic knock sounded on the shutters. “What did he tell you? I need to know!”

                “Why don’t you go back to your other girls, you cul-“

                “Other girls? What other girls?” he called back. “Imelda, there’s only you! You really thought…” Pleading mixed with anger in his voice. “Dios mio, don’t you know me at all?!”

                She had enough of this. Boot in hand, she opened the door. Before he could react, she launched the boot at his head. It collided with his face and knocked him on his back. “Go away! I mean it, Hector! I don’t want you here!”

                He lifted his head and she caught the wounded look in his eyes. She closed the door again before she let it soften her. It went quiet for a few minutes and she thought he left. But then, she heard a rattling sigh at the shutters. “Things must look bad to you, I know,” he said. “I never meant you any trouble. I’ll go.”

                She listened as his footsteps disappeared into the distance. Once she thought he was gone, she opened the shutters to make sure. She couldn’t see him anywhere, but she did find two things left on her window sill, the morning glories and her boot.

[-]

                The twins followed her a few years later, together on the same day. She marched into the Department of Family Reunions prepared to scold them about how she knew their experiments would get them killed one day. It turned out her lecture was unwarranted. They simply caught pneumonia at the same time and died only a few hours apart from each other. Her temper calmed by the still-boyish look of her little brothers, she gathered them in her arms, happy to have her family again.

                The Land of the Dead absolutely fascinated them. The technology was unlike anything they had in the Land of the Living. They spent their free time exploring every inch of their new home. One day, they come home from one of their excursions abuzz with news for Imelda.

                They talked over each other, both wanting to be the first one to tell her what they saw. She waved her hands and said, “Alright, alright, one at a time.”

                “Well, we were in the Plaza today…” Oscar began.

                “Trying to examine how the vertical trollies worked,” Filipe finished.

                “And we ran into someone.”

                “Someone you know.”

                “Someone you used to like.”

                “A lot.”

                “Who?” Imelda asked, wishing one of them would just spit it out.

                The twins glanced at each other, suddenly nervous.

                “Well, you see…”

                “It was…”

                “Hec…”

                “…tor.”

                “What?!” she shouted, causing them both to cower in their rib cages. “You dare bring his name into this house?! Tell me you didn’t speak to him.”

                Oscar was the first to poke his head back out. “Not, intentionally…”

                “We fully intended to completely ignore his existence,” Filipe added.

                “Si, but, then he ran up to us.”

                “He asked about you.”

                “Wanted to know if you were doing well.”

                “And what did you say?” Imelda growled.

                “Not much.” Filipe threw his hands up, defensively.

                “Said you were doing perfectly fine.”

                “Then we got away.”

                “As fast as we could.”

                “Without looking rude.”

                The twins glanced at each other nervously and Imelda could tell there was more to the story. “What else?” she said, rolling her wrist to signal them to go on.

                Oscar was the first to speak up. “It’s just, we were talking on our way back.”

                “And we agreed that he looked very young.”

                “So young.”

                “Too young.”

                “Like, too-young-to-have-slept-his-way-through-half-of-Mexico young.”

                “Wouldn’t have had the time.”

                “So we were thinking.”

                “And this is just a hypothesis.”

                “That maybe…”

                “…when he didn’t come back…”

                “It wasn’t…”

                “…entirely…”

                “…his…”

                “…fault?”

                The brothers reached for each other, awaiting the inevitable explosion.

                It turned out to be a slow burn. “You two think it’s wise to come into my house and try to make excuses for him?” she growled.

                “No, no, no, no, no!” the twins burst out in a panic.

                “It’s just, we fancy ourselves scientists,” Filipe explained.

                “We like to examine all the evidence,” Oscar added.

                “And when we were presented with this new piece of evidence…”

                “…it put a different spin on the situation.”

                “I’ll spin you across the floor if you bring him up again!” Imelda shouted, sending her brothers back cowering in their rib cages. “What is so difficult to understand? We do not speak _of_ that man! We do not speak _to_ that man! If I hear you talked to him ever again, you’ll find a new place for your experiments! Do I make myself clear?”

                “Of course, Imelda.”

                “Of course.”

                “We’ll never speak to him again.”

                “Never.”

                “And if he tries to talk to us again…”

                “…we’ll spit in his face.”

                “Or do something equally as rude…”

                “…depending on whether or not we can spit here.”

                The twins got distracted by arguing about what constitutes spitting for a skeleton. Imelda sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Alright, I forgive you. But do _not_ mention that man in my house again. As far as we’re concerned, he does not exist.”

                “Of course, sister.”

                “Yes, sister.”

                With that, the brothers went off, discussing possible experiments to test the degree to which skeletons could spit. Imelda was left in the kitchen, clenching and unclenching her fists. The nerve of that man. How dare he speak to her family? If he weren’t more than dead to her, she’d hunt him down and make his skull spin. She spent decades building a life for her family which did not include him. If he thought he could waltz back in after all these years…

                _Coco will cross over someday._ The thought struck her like a boot to the face. Though she hoped it wouldn’t be for a very long time, she looked forward to the day she could see her daughter again. But, she never had the hold on Coco that she had on the rest of the family. Coco was rebellious and did as she liked…and though she tried to hide it, she never let go of her father. _She’ll want to see him, and I can’t stop her._

                [-]

                Years passed with Hector cycling in and out of her life. Sometimes she’d go years without seeing anything of him except maybe a quick glimpse at the market or the trolley station. Some days, usually on her birthday or wedding anniversary, she’d find a purple morning glory left on a window sill. If he was feeling bold, he might leave a note. Once, early on in her afterlife, he tried going to the shop under the pretense of needing a shoe repair. Pepita chased him away before he got much of a word in.

                As the years went on, his attempts became less insistent and more hopeless. He stopped leaving her flowers for their anniversary and only every few years on her birthday. If he left a note, it was short and simple, to the effect of “I’ll always love you, even if you no longer love me.” She might falter for a second, let herself doubt her anger, but she’d quickly steel herself against it. He made that choice all those years ago. She held onto her anger this long, it was her right. If he wanted her love, he wouldn’t have abandoned her. 

                But one day, he did something that made her heart melt for him, if only for a moment. It reminded her who she fell in love with all those years ago. If it was all an act for her, it might have made her angrier, but the truth was, he didn’t even know she’d seen.

                She was out running errands one day and had to cut through the plaza. It was particularly busy, she noted, as she picked her way through the crowd. She was lost in her own thoughts, thinking about orders that needed finishing or supplies that needed refilled, when she heard a painfully familiar voice. She tensed up, preparing to scare him off, when she realized the voice was not directed at her.

                She peered through the crowd and spotted Hector kneeling down and speaking softly to a crying little girl.

                “It’ll be alright, niña,” he said, offering her a handkerchief. “We’ll find your family. What is your name?”

                “Adelita,” the girl answered, rubbing her eyes.

                “Oh, such a lovely name,” he cooed. “Who are you here with?”

                The girl sobbed harder into the handkerchief. “I want my mamá.”

                “Okay, we’ll find her.”

                “We can’t,” the little girl shrieked, stomping her foot. “She’s still on the other side.”

                “Oh, oh I see…” A shadow passed over his face. He took a second to collect himself, then recovered. “Who did you come to the market with?”

                “Abuelo,” the girl answered through sniffs.

                “Is he a nice abuelo?”

                “Mmmhmm,” she murmured, peaking her face out from behind her hands. “He tells me funny stories.”

                He gave her a gentle smile. “Sounds like a fun person to hang out with while you wait for your mamá, sí?”

                “Sí.”

                “And you’ll get to see your mama again soon. Dia de los Muertos is only a few months away,” he added, his voice becoming more animated. “That wait feels like nothing here.” The girl looked up, intrigued. He smiled and went on. “You know, I have a daughter just like you, and I go to see her every year. You can go to see your mama too.”

That was a lie. Imelda knew it was a lie. Now that she was dead herself, she knew for a fact he couldn’t cross over. She tore his face out of their photo decades ago. He couldn’t cross without it. She crossed the bridge every year to visit her family and he was never there. How dare he tell a blatant lie to child?

But then, she saw the look of hope on the child’s face and wondered if it was such a bad lie. Surely the girl’s living parents would put her photo on the ofrenda. What harm could come from it?

“My daughter, do you know what I call her?” Hector went on to the now-smiling child. “I call her mi vida. That’s funny, right?”

                The girl beamed and said, “My papá called me princesa.”

                Hector let out an exaggerated gasp. “Oh I’m so sorry, Princesa Adelita. I had no idea I was speaking to royalty.” He bowed low and the girl dissolved into giggles. He grinned and popped up to his feet. “Come on, Princesa. What is your abuelo’s name?”

                “Arturo.”

                “Okay, you can sit up here and be the look out,” he said, picking her up and placing her on his shoulders. “Let me know when you spot him.” He ran off into the crowd, the little girl squealing with laughter and both of them calling for Abuelito Arturo.

                Imelda watched him disappear. Some jaded part of her mind wondered if he just put on a show for her, but she knew that wasn’t true. He had no idea she was watching. He never even glanced her way. Besides, this was nothing new for him. She couldn’t count the number of times they paused a date to help a lost child in the market or plaza find their family.

                She no longer had a heart in her chest, but that didn’t stop it from melting. She tried to steel herself against it. This changed nothing. He still abandoned his family. That fact was set in stone. But watching him with that little girl moved something in her. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of the man she married.


	6. Chapter 6

Despite her best efforts to erase her husband from her life, He kept popping up in one inescapable way. She and Héctor had a child together, and from there her family grew. Héctor’s genetics flowed through her family tree just as much as hers did. She loved her family, both those she met in life and those she visited after death. But every so often, she’d notice one trait, one quirk, one distinct quality, would crop up in her family members which was undeniably Héctor.

She saw him everywhere. He was in Coco’s irrepressible love of music (despite the ban), in Victoria’s perpetually thin build, and even Elena (who was most like Imelda personality-wise) had Héctor’s overly-affectionate ways. Part of her was glad Coco only had girls. It lessoned the risk of facing his spitting image in her own grandchildren.

When she visited the later generations every Dia de los Muertos, he continued to show up. Berto had his love of horrible puns (and wore the same cheeky grin when someone groaned in response). Gloria had his rebellious streak and ability to easily knock back a shot. Enrique looked like a mix of Franco and Héctor (the ears-to-nose ratio was Héctor’s for sure) and displayed the same gentle care towards his family that Héctor did once upon a time. Abel had his clumsiness and Rosa had his sharp wit. But the most egregious offender of all was her great great grandson, Miguel.

The boy didn’t look much like him in the face. In fact, Imelda thought he most resembled his mother, Louisa. It was his manner, his very way of being. The others all had a trait or two here or there. Miguel was the complete package. Imelda didn’t know Héctor as a child, but she heard plenty of tales, enough to know he was a trouble maker. It seemed the same for Miguel. The dead side of the family often tried to guess what trouble the poor boy got himself into that year. More than once, Imelda visited the ofrenda to find Elena sighing about what to do with that boy.

At age 6, he ate the sugar skull meant for Rosita and spent a good hour pouting on a bench in the corner. (He was only supposed to be in time out for a few minutes and write an apology letter to Rosita, but he decided to be dramatic instead. Rosita appreciated the letter, though, especially the skull he drew as a replacement.) At age 8, he fed a few table scraps to a street dog on their way to the graveyard. The dog then followed them and ate up half their offerings. At age 10, he placed a candle too close to a sting of papel picado and it caught on fire. It was a complete accident and Enrique managed to put out the fire quickly, but Miguel still spent half the evening hiding in his room out of guilt. More than once, Imelda visited the ofrenda to find Elena sighing about what to do with that boy.

He really was a good kid despite his troublemaking. He never meant anything maliciously and was so sweet once he decided to give up the dramatics. In fact, Imelda saw plenty of evidence of his big heart, especially with how he treated his Mama Coco. He was friendly, lively, and clever. He just didn’t always think things through. (Sort of like some other person she knew).

That night he wound up in the Land of the Dead, when she had the rare opportunity to interact with her living relative, she couldn’t help but see all of the nuances that just screamed Héctor. His sheepish grin, the way he grabbed his arm when nervous, the dimple that winked at her with every changing expression, all belonged to Héctor. And then, of course, there was the music. Oh the music! One might think she threatened to take away his air supply the way he reacted. So dramatic, so rebellious, it was like she was raising Coco all over again.

He managed to cut her deep, though, just like Coco once did. When he accused her of ruining his life, she let it roll off her back. He was at that age. Just adolescent dramatics. Everything was a matter of life and death. Never mind that getting him home really was a matter of life and death. He really thought music was the only thing to live for and losing it felt like the end of the world. He was just being a silly kid, she thought. She was sure he’d see it her way once he got older. But first, she had to make sure he had the chance to get older. Desperate to earn his trust, she sang. She sang for the first time in years, for the first time in decades. She was right. He stopped and listened. He listened to her story and her reasons. He’d understand now, surely.

But no, just like Coco he had his own ideas. He said he didn’t want to pick sides. He said he wanted her support, and he let a tear fall because he thought he’d never get it. It sent a sharp pain through her chest. He believed it. He truly believed she wouldn’t support him and, in a way, he was right. He had no reason to believe she would. His entire life, to that point, was built around their family’s ban on music, a ban that lasted nearly a century. He thought she would let him die over something as silly as music. He thought she didn’t love him enough to see past that. He was wrong, of course. If it came down to the wire, she’d send him back conditions or no conditions. What hurt so much, however, was that he had no reason to believe she would. He did, however, have every reason to believe his own great-great grandmother would let him die. She said it herself. “You go home my way, or no way.”

Regret and fear settled in the pit of her would-be stomach as she continued her search. As she flew through the air on Pepita’s back, she berated herself in her mind over and over again. How could she put conditions on her blessing? How could she imply that the music ban was more important than his life? Of course he’d run from her. What kind of mother denies her children their lives? For what? To stop him from playing music? It was just a phase, for all she knew. Coco went through similar phases at his age and she turned out just fine. She just didn’t want him to make the same mistakes her husband made.

Eventually, Pepita spotted the little Xolo dog who followed Miguel around. It’s barking led them to a cenote where they finally found him. Miguel laughed when Pepita roared and he smiled when their eyes finally met. She wanted an explanation as to how he got down there, but there’d be time for that later. He was still flesh, they still had time, and he was apparently done running away.

But then her eyes found _him._ Héctor, her useless husband. She should have figured Miguel would find his way to that _musician._ Oh, it was all coming together now. She didn’t know how or why, but whatever the reason they wound up in that sinkhole, Héctor had something to do with it. She growled as she said his name. He grinned his sheepish grin, nervously grabbed his arm, and threw out a compliment, as if that would soften her. He couldn’t melt her heart now, not when his carelessness nearly got their great-great grandson killed.

Reluctantly, she let him ride Pepita out of the cenote. She couldn’t very well get an explanation out of him if she didn’t. Besides, she couldn’t just leave him down there. She wasn’t heartless. When they landed, that idiot tried to help her down. As if she needed help dismounting her own alebrije. As if she ever needed his help for anything. She proved she didn’t long ago. With a scoff, she made point of dismounting from the other side.

“M’ijo, I was so worried,” she cried as Miguel launched himself into her arms. This was right. Her family was together again. Miguel was no longer afraid of her. Somewhere along the way, he learned to see reason. It was a near miracle too, considering his company.

She stepped forward, ready to unleash every harsh word she had for Héctor. She almost lost her great-great grandson tonight and she wasn’t sure how, but she knew Héctor had to be at fault for something. But then, Miguel cut in. He defended Héctor and claimed everything was his own fault. He even claimed Héctor told him nothing was more important than family. She couldn’t believe that. How could he claim to value family after abandoning his own? She was about to argue this point, but Miguel interrupted her again.

“He wanted to go back to you and Coco, but Ernesto de la Cruz murdered him.”

Imelda stopped as, suddenly, everything clicked into place. The last 96 years finally made sense. Why the letters stopped so abruptly, why Ernesto had the guitar, why no one, not friends, not family, ever heard anything from Héctor again. Why he still looked so painfully young… Ernesto claimed there were other girls, but that had to be a lie. She could see that now. Ernesto lied to cover up his crimes. No, it was more than that. He lied to keep Imelda from asking questions. And it worked. Her fury rose. She’d been made a fool of the whole time and she didn’t even know it.

But…but no. This didn’t change anything. Héctor left, even if he did try to come back. He let her for…how long was it? The letters stopped at nine or ten months. That must have been when he was… “So what if it’s true?” she shouted. “You leave me alone with a child to raise and I am just supposed to forgive you?”

Before he can answer, his body shimmered gold and he collapsed. Instinctively, she knew what it was. She’d never seen the final death before, but now it hung like a shadow over her husband. His words confirmed it. He explained it was Coco and Imelda knew right away what he meant. Coco never let her father’s memory go. Now she’s the last thing keeping him tethered to this world. He would have faded long ago if Imelda had her way. The guilt washed over her again. “I wanted to forget you,” she began. Somehow, without a throat, she felt it tighten. “I wanted Coco to forget you too, but-”

“This is my fault, not yours.” His eyes were gentle and sincere, just like they were the last time she saw him alive. “I’m sorry.”

Something strange happened in her, then; like a weight suddenly lifted. This, she realized, this sincere apology, was all she ever wanted. Every time in the past, he tried to woo her like he did when they were young and she took it as a cheap gimmick to win her back. She turned him away before he could get too close. What might have happened, she wondered, if he came to her without his usual theatrics, if she let him get explain himself, if they just sat down and talked about what happened…

No, it was too late for what-ifs. She made her choice long ago to go on without him. If he didn’t want her, she didn’t want him. _But that wasn’t really the case, was it._ He loved her, and he loved Coco. He loved them though decades of loneliness. He loved them despite being denied the chance to see them. He still loved them and never stopped. _He deserves to see her,_ she admitted to herself _. He deserves to see her at least one last time._ And yet, she couldn’t let it go. She built her life on her independence, on her need to be the sole pillar of support for her family. She built it all on the belief that she never needed him, that his abandonment couldn’t bring her down. She vowed long ago never to forgive him, and she still couldn’t break her vow.

“I can’t forgive you,” she said. His face crumbled, Miguel crumbled. Even her family behind her seemed disappointed. It was true. She wasn’t ready for forgiveness yet, but she was ready for something else. “But I will help you.”

[-]

The plan started off smoothly enough. They managed to sneak back stage undetected and everyone seemed clear on the plan. After confirming everyone had a petal, they started off. Although, they barely made it around a corner before she nearly ran into Ernesto. The rest of her family stopped and hid in a corridor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Héctor put a protective arm out in front of Miguel. At least, with this, they were on the same page. Miguel needed his protection far more than she did.

She looked up at Ernesto with his artificial smiled and arrogant swagger. How dare he flash that grin at her? He tried to kill her great-great grandson tonight. He had no right to the ease he carried himself with. Was he just as calm and collected on the night he murdered her husband? Did he smile then?

All her fury and bitterness over the years finally had a clear target, the correct target. He was the reason her husband never came home. He was the reason Coco grew up without her beloved father. He was the reason for the anger that stuck with her for nearly a century. The image of Coco crying herself to sleep on her fifth birthday came to her in a flash. Her boot found her hand just as fast. She’d smack that grin off his face.

His head spun multiple times. “That’s for murdering the love of my life!” She declared, brandishing her boot.

He looked dumbfounded and stammered stupidly. He really had the nerve to not know what she was talking about. _You know what you did you coward._

Héctor jumped to her side. “She’s talking about me.” He gave Ernesto a glare then turned his melting eyes onto her. “I’m the love of your life?”

“I don’t know, I’m still angry at you.”

“Héctor?” Ernesto growled. “How did you-”

Oh how cute. He thought he could intimidate them. Imelda smacked him again. “And that’s for trying to murder my grandson!”

“Grandson?”

“She’s talking about me,” Miguel said, stepping out of the shadows.

“You? Wait, you’re related to Héctor?”

So the big superstar was finally putting it all together. They didn’t pause for explanations. Miguel pointed out the photo in Ernesto’s pocket. The rest of her family came out to stand with them. Together, they loomed over Ernesto.

He ran. The coward.

[-]

It was done. Miguel was back where he belonged. In some ways, they accomplished much more than they meant to. They sent Miguel back to the Land of the Living. That was most important. But they also managed to reveal Ernesto as a murderer and a fraud to the whole Land of the Dead, or at least they had more than enough witnesses to spread the word. News like this would spread like wildfire. Ernesto’s days of profiting off of her family’s pain were over.

But they still failed at one very important task. Héctor would fade. That much was inevitable, despite Miguel’s assurances that he’d make Coco remember. At no point was saving Héctor truly part of the plan. All they could do, all they tried to do, was let him finally go home to his little girl. But they couldn’t even give him that.

He shivered violently as the gold shimmers enveloped him. He was hanging on. For whatever reason, he still clung to this world. There was no hope. Why did he hang on? Why didn’t he let himself pass peacefully? Why didn’t her stupid husband just go easy on himself for once?

She’d hold him, though. She’d hold him till the end. At the very least, she could give him that. When he shimmered, he felt like barely more than nothing in her hands. Her family gathered round. Julio took of his hat respectfully. They all knelt around him with mournful looks on their faces. She couldn’t help but notice how similar it all looked to her own death. But one very important person was missing.

Just like her own death, there was so much to say, but not enough words. She wasn’t sure what she could say. That she missed him? That she wished they had more time? That she wished she didn’t waste what they got? That she loved him, even after everything? Would he even be able to hear her? Words didn’t work so, like her own daughter did for her, she hummed softly. She hummed the same melody that Coco hummed to her.

The sun rose around them. It looked cheerful and it angered her. Unfair is what it was; unfair that the his last sunrise was beautiful when he couldn’t open his eyes to see it, unfair that he loved his daughter so much but never got to watch her grow up, unfair that she was about to lose him again just when she got him back. Life wasn’t fair. She knew that. She told Coco and her granddaughters that countless times. But they weren’t alive.

After several agonizing minutes, the shimmering stopped. Her eyes were closed, but she still felt weight in her hands. Still, she didn’t let herself hope. There was no sense in hoping against the inevitable.  She felt two hands fall on her shoulders and her brothers said, “Imelda, look.”

She opened her eyes to see Héctor, still whole, slightly even more solid in her arms. He slowly opened his eyes. “Imelda?”

“Héctor?” She couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it. She didn’t want to be wrong. “What happened to you?”

“I’m not sure,” he answered. His eyelids looked heavy and his voice sounded raspier than usual, but wasn’t fading. “I feel…better?” He sounded like he couldn’t believe it himself. But, from the look of it, he was right. On closer inspection, his bones weren’t so brittle and didn’t look quite as yellow as they did just moments before. “I think…our boy did it.”

His eyes closed again and went limp. She waited for him to start shimmering again, but he never did. He was simply passed out, drained of energy. A brush with the final death would do that to you. But he was whole, he could recover, and he was still here. _He is still here._


	7. Chapter 7

“What do you think you’re playing at?” Imelda snapped.

Hecotr jumped. He looked like a child caught in the middle of some mischief. “I was just-”

“Get back in bed,” Imelda said, storming up the stairs. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I’m fine, Imelda,” Héctor insisted.

“No, the doctor said another week.”

“The doctor said a week _unless_ I’m feeling strong enough to get up, which I am.”

Imelda tsked and waved his correction away. “That doctor doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He said himself he’s never even heard of a near-final death before.”

“He said that’s because I’m probably the first.”

Since Dia de los Muertos, Héctor gained wide notoriety throughout the Land of the Dead as both a tragic musician and a medical marvel. No one survived the final death before and that gained just as much attention as his being the true author of de la Cruz’s songs. She didn’t know what was worse, being hounded by reporters or by researchers.

The only person she allowed to see him was Dr. Herrero. He’d been their family’s physician since Santa Cecelia. He was the only person she trusted to look after Héctor without publicizing it. She could see on his face that he wanted to ask so many questions, but he was at least polite enough to put them aside for now. After all, Héctor was the only person known to beat the final death. Everyone had questions, but they’d all have to wait.

Héctor spent the first few days falling in and out of consciousness. He’d wake up in a daze and ask a few confused questions. Sometimes he asked about where he was and what happened. Sometimes he’d ask about Miguel, Imelda, or Ernesto. After a few minutes, he’d pass out again. The doctor wasn’t sure what to make of it at first. His only guess was that clinging on so long took a lot out of him. He told them to watch Héctor and call if anything changed. Imelda didn’t know what to do. The dead didn’t need food or water, so at least they didn’t need to worry about that. All they could do was wait and for Imelda, that felt too much like doing nothing.

By day four, he was able to stay awake much longer, only falling into short naps every few hours. By day six, he was awake for most of the day. The doctor recommended another week of bedrest, though he admitted this was just an estimate as Héctor’s condition was completely unprecedented. However, by this point, Héctor was already going stir-crazy and Imelda was reminded of just how bad a patient he was.

She recalled a time Héctor sat up all night with Coco when she had a stomach flu. Sure enough, as soon as Coco was better, he was sick himself. He insisted he was fine despite his glassy eyes, green-tinged face, and hair wet with sweat. She practically had to lock him in their room to get him to rest. After almost a hundred years, he still wasn’t any better about letting himself heal.

“Héctor, you’re up!” Oscar called from the bottom of the stairs. He and Filipe had just come in from the workshop, apparently to see what all the fuss was about.

“He should be in bed,” Imelda shot back.

“He looks alright to me,” Filipe remarked.

“I am alright,” Héctor insisted. “Perfectly healthy.” He grinned, but Imelda’s skeptical glare never wavered. “I’ll show you. Watch.” He gripped the banister with both hands, hopped up, and held himself vertically upside down in a handstand. Imelda’s shouts for him to get down competed with the twins’ cheers. He apparently couldn’t resist showing of a little by balancing on one hand. When he finally flipped himself right-side-up again, he flashed that same stupid grin she’d seen a thousand times. “See? Could a sick man do that?”

“Can’t say I’ve ever seen the infirmed performing circus tricks,” Oscar said with a smirk.

“Better set up a trapeze in the courtyard, though, just to be sure,” Filipe added.

“Don’t you two encourage him,” Imelda warned. The twins ignored her scolding and walked out, discussing the logistics of setting up an in-home circus. “If I walk out there and see a trapeze in my courtyard… Boys!”

“They’re just having a laugh,” Héctor said, putting a hand on her shoulder. His touch was light, like it was barely there. Ever since he woke up, he treated her like an easily spooked animal. She couldn’t blame him. After all those times she chased him away, he probably feared any misstep would send him back out again. She remembered the days when he’d sweep her up in his arms and they’d dance the night away. She supposed they’d have to work their way back up to that again.

She turned to face him and he smiled sadly. “You’ve been wonderful to me, Imelda,” he said, chancing a hug. “More than I deserve, but I’ve imposed long enough. I can take care of myself from here.”

“Imposed?” What was this foolishness? He’d better not be going where she thought he was going.

“It’s alright,” he said, stepping away and starting down the stairs. “I always knew I’d need to get out of your hair eventually.” He stopped at the bottom of the staircase and put his hat over his heart. “Though, I do hope, you’ll find time to see me again.”

He started out and Imelda was left stammering on the steps. What was he talking about? This drivel about taking care of himself and wanting to get out of her hair… What was wrong with him? Didn’t he see? Miguel changed everything. Didn’t he know she wanted him here? That she wanted to take care of him? That was what you did for family. _But you never said that, did you?_ It was true. She said ‘get out.’ She said ‘stay away.’ She never said she wanted him back. They didn’t talk, they didn’t listen… Maybe if they had sooner… Well, to hell with the past. She was talking now.

“Héctor Rivera, how dare you talk such nonsense?” she demanded, marching down the steps.

He froze with his hand on the door. “Imelda?”

She grabbed his hand pulled him back in. “You spent how long trying to come home? And now that you’re here, you want to leave?”

“It’s not that… It’s just…” He took off his hat again and fidgeted with it in his hands. “I thought you didn’t want me here.”

Imelda sighed and softened her voice. “I didn’t, not until recently, but everything’s different now.” She placed her hand on his chin and lifted his face to meet hers. “Besides, you don’t want Miguel to be disappointed when he crosses over and sees we’re still not together.”

“Are we? Together?” His eyes went wide and she could feel him trembling.

He had hope in his eyes, but the fragile sort that expected to be crushed. She didn’t want to tell him ‘yes.’ She missed him, and she spent the last couple weeks realizing how much. But there was too much damage and so much wreckage to sort through. Maybe one day, but right now, they just needed a start. “I don’t know, but we have a family together. You should get to know the rest of them.”

His hope rose, though cautiously.  “You… really want me to stay?”

She smiled and put her hands on his. “This is your home.”

He smiled too, not his mask of a grin, but the one she knew. “Then I will stay.” In his boldest move yet, he bent down and kissed her hands. He lifted his head, and his joy radiated off of him like the sun. “But first, there’s something very important I need to get.”

Her hands flew to her hips. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said, opening the door. “You’ll see. I’m coming right back, I promise.”

“No, no surprises.” She ran forward and caught him by the hand. “I’m coming with you. I want to see what it so important.”

[-]

Héctor lead her through the Land of the Dead as giddy as a schoolboy. He seemed to have a story for every brick in the city. He, for lack of better term, lived quite a life here. He told her all about how he spent the first few decades with his mother, about how he was an orchestra musician for a while (though his mood damped when he told her Ernesto put an end to that), and about the friends he’d made throughout the years. He went on and on, stories weaving into each other, and she listened to it all. It was something she recently learned she could stand to do a bit more.

Soon, they made their way to Shantytown. She should have known this would be their destination. Héctor had almost been forgotten, after all. They traveled down the rickety, old stair case, ( _Did he take Miguel on this death trap?_ ) and through the archway which lead to an equally rickety boardwalk. They were greeted as soon as they set foot into the place.

“Héctor! You’re back!” An old man shouted.

Héctor waved to him and went up to the table where two old men sat, playing cards.

“If you weren’t who everyone’s been talking about, I’d have thought you faded away,” the other old man said, setting his cards face down.

“Almost,” Héctor rubbed the back of his neck, “but I’m feeling much better now.” Imelda joined the group. Héctor beamed and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Guys, I want you to meet my wife, Imelda.”

“Oh it’s _the_ wife.” The first old man looked at her like she were a mythical creature.

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” the second old man sneered.

“Héctor’s been talking about me?” she asked.

“All good things,” the first man assured her. “All about how ‘he’s not worthy’ and all that.”

“Never said a harsh word about you,” the second man agreed, though by his tone, he clearly thought Héctor should have. “Though I just figured he was blind and you were a bi-”

“We need to get going,” Héctor cut in, steering Imelda away from the table. “I’ll come down sometime and play cards, alright?”

As they continued along, Héctor’s grin got a little more nervous. Was it what the old man said? Or almost said? She started to wonder what bitterness came out over the years. She had to admit, had it been her in his position, she’d have been cursing his name to the heavens. “Héctor,” she began, trying to sound as understanding as possible, “what did you say about me when we were apart?”

Héctor cringed and rubbed the back of his neck. “They just know I’d spend every Dia de los Muertos trying to cross the bridge and some details came out over the years. If I felt like talking about it, I’d mostly just go on about how stupid I was and how it was all my fault. But people around here…” he gestured at the bungalows surrounding them. “We don’t have anyone else, you know? We cling to each other and some folks get protective.”

‘We,’ he said. He still counted himself among them, among the people who didn’t have anyone. Was he so used to being cast out? Did he forget that he had a family now? Or was he simply afraid to believe it?

“Look, it’s Tia Chelo’s house!” he said, throwing on his mask grin. “You’ll like her. She reminded me of your grandmother. You know, the one who threatened to feed me to her chihuahuas?” He went up to a bungalow and poked his head in the tent flap. “Tia Chelo! Guess who you still have to put up with!” After a moment of silence, he turned back to Imelda, a grave look on his face. “Tia Chelo?” he called again, walked back toward the boardwalk. “Tia Silvia? Tia Yolanda?”

His knee knocked into a makeshift table where a game of cards still lay, untouched. Héctor lifted one of the cards and, with a sigh, let it flutter back onto the table “They’re gone…”

Imelda stepped up and put her hands on his shoulders. She wondered who these women were. Were they close friends of his? He’d always been able to make friends easily. How many had he seen fade away? She was about to ask about his lost friends when a woman called his name from inside one of the bungalows.

“Héctor? Héctor is that you?”

An old, plump woman stumbled out of her home. She smiled and waved at him, but was soon engulfed in orange lights.

“Patricia?” Héctor called out. He ran to her and managed to catch her before she fell to the ground. “Patricia, are you alright?” he asked as he gently sat her down on a stool.

“Héctor, they’re gone. They passed on Dia de los Muertos. I thought I might be alone when I…” The shimmers engulfed her again and Héctor struggled to keep her from falling off the stool. Imelda rushed over and put an arm around the woman’s shoulders to keep her up.

“Hey, hey, I’m here,” he whispered once the shimmers stopped. “And look, it’s my wife I told you about. She’s decided to put up with me again.”

Patricia turned to get a look at this wife. Imelda gave her a sad, sympathetic smile. Patricia smiled back. “Héctor, you foolish boy,” she said, laughing and shaking her head. “After all those times we told you to give up and move on…”

“What can I say? She has my heart.”

“You’d better take care of our big-hearted fool,” Patricia said to Imelda, flashing a cheeky grin. “The village idiot, this one.” She jabbed her thumb in Héctor’s direction and let out another laugh which was soon interrupted by shimmers, this time more violent than the last.

She slumped over, exhausted. “I heard you singing…” She was interrupted by another fit of violent shimmers, “…right before Chich passed. Would you mind?”

“I’d be happy to.”

Héctor began singing an old folk song. It was one Imelda knew well, as it was one of her mother’s favorites. She joined her voice with his. He glanced up in surprise, but kept the soft song going for his dear friend. Patricia smiled, and was surrounded by an orange glow. They could feel her bones turning to light itself beneath their hands. She passed through their fingers like a warm mist. They finished the last note together.

Héctor dropped his hands to his side. “I should have been here,” Héctor muttered, standing up.

“What do you mean?”

“When Tia Chelo, and Silvia, and Yolanda all passed… I should have been here to see them off. No one should go alone.”

“Héctor, you were with Miguel. He needed you.” She wondered if he was always this way. She did recall him spreading himself too thin; trying to be there for her, and Coco, and Ernesto, and sometimes her brothers, and his friends, and his music all at once. But this new fear of missing his last chance… Was is brought on by being nearly forgotten? Or was it something caused by her?

“What are we doing?” He said, a false smile on his lips and a forced jaunt in his step. “We came for something important.”

“Héctor…”

“Come on, this way,” he called, gesturing for her to follow.

He led her to another shack up a small ramp, off to the side of the boardwalk. It wasn’t particularly different from the other shacks, but it was surreal stepping into where her husband had lived for God-knows how long. In her quest to never think about him, she also never gave much thought to where he lived.

“This is yours?” she asked, looking around. He didn’t have much. Just a cot, and a few crates for storage. Although, she did spot a mini-fridge tucked into a dark corner.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he said, kneeling down to look under the cot. “I spend most of my time outside, anyway, so I don’t need much. Ah, there we are.” He pulled out an old shoebox. She only had to glimpse the R on the top to know it was a Rivera box.

 He placed the box down on one of the crates and opened the lid. Inside were a few folded up sheets of paper. She took one out and, upon opening it, immediately noticed the little drawing in the corner. “This is Coco’s.” She remembered writing down the letter as Coco dictated stories she thought her Papá would like to hear. In this one, she talked about seeing a pretty bird, playing with Pepita, and learning a few steps from a real dancer. She ended the letter by saying, “I miss you, Papá, and I love you. When will you come home?”

“It is the last letter I got from you,” Héctor explained, taking the rest of the papers out of the box. “I have your part here, too. I happened to have them in my pocket when I died, so they crossed over with me. I’ve also got the letter I was going to send to you.”

He handed it to Imelda, who took it and read it to herself.

_Mi amore,_

_I am sorry I stayed away so long. I hope you can forgive me. I realize my mistake now and I am coming home for good. Tell Coco I can’t wait to hear all of her stories when I get back and I will tell you all of mine. Just thinking about her sweet smile makes me wish I was home already._

_Ernesto is, of course, upset about this, but he will need to understand. We’ve been friends for years and I believe our friendship can survive this. I let him lead me astray for too long, but my place is at home with you and Coco._

_Hopefully, one day I can-_

The letter ended there. “I didn’t get to finish,” Héctor admitted. “Ernesto kept trying to argue with me while I was trying to write it. I figured I’d finish it on the train and send it at one of the stops. I thought, ‘how funny will it be if I get home before the letter does,’ but…”

“You kept them,” Imelda whispered, never taking her eyes off of the paper. “You kept them for…”

“Ninety-six years, yes. They were my last pieces of home. I couldn’t let anything happen to them.”

He kept it. It was aged as much as could be expected, but he kept it. It was in good condition, too; possibly even exceptional condition given its age. There were no folds, no tears, no water marks… The care show to them became even more impressive when she considered everything that could have happened to them in nearly a century.

She didn’t realize she was crying until she saw a tear drop onto the letter. _Oh no, marred._ He kept it impeccable for ninety-six years and she tarnished it in less than a minute. She folded the papers as gently as she could, placed them back in the box, then sat down on the cot and buried her face in her hands.

“Imelda, what’s wrong?” Héctor asked, taking a seat next to her.

She couldn’t look at him. She damned her own husband to a century of loneliness. How can she ever look him in the face again? “I’m sorry,” she whispered into her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What for?” He put his arms around her. That fool. Didn’t he realize what she’d done? Why didn’t he hate her? He should hate her. She wanted to push his arms away. She didn’t deserve his comfort, but she was too selfish to turn it down.

“You kept those, but I lost everything of yours. I tore your face out of our photo. I got rid of everything that reminded me of you. I even ripped up your suit, the one from the night we met. They have nothing to put on the ofrenda. You can never go back and it’s my fault.”

There was no answer. She looked up to see his face somber, pensive. He wouldn’t tell her his thoughts. He rarely revealed his pain to others. When she was young and foolish, she thought he just didn’t care. Nothing seemed to affect him. But years of caring for a family taught her to see nuance. He did care, too much, so much he couldn’t bear to burden anyone else with his troubles. Why did it take her so long to see? What a pair they were. He didn’t talk, and she didn’t listen. That was where all the trouble started, wasn’t it?

Well, maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe they could still start right now. “Héctor, tell me the truth. Did you ever hate me for how I treated you?”

His eyes flew open and he tensed up. “No, no, everything was my fault. I always-”

“Héctor,” she said firmly, “I can take the truth. Tell me, how did you felt about me when I refused to let you see your family?”

He signed and let out a long breath. He dropped his arms from around her and cast his eyes to the floor. “There were times when I was angry,” he began, quietly. “I just wanted to apologize. I just wanted to explain, but you never gave me a chance. I had a family and I was never even allowed to know them. But, I could never bring myself to hate you. I always knew I was at least partly to blame and I punished myself plenty. Now that we all know what really happened… it’s strange. I should hate Ernesto, but I just don’t have it in me. Hate takes too much energy and I’m just…” He shook his head, wearily. “I’m tired, Imelda. I’m so, so tired.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” she said, laying a hand on his cheek. “Carmen, your granddaughter in law, makes photo albums. I’ll try to bring them back so you can see everyone. I’ll tell you everything I see on Dia de los Muertos. I’ll even stay here with you if you want.”

He reached out and put his arms around her again. “No, go. I don’t want to keep you from our family.”

“But you…”

“I’ll meet them all when they cross over.” He gave her one last squeeze before pulling back again. “Is Carmen Miguel’s mother?”

“No, she’s his tía.”

“How many are still in the land of the living?”

“Well,” she began with a soft smile, “there’s our granddaughter, Elena. She is Victoria’s sister. Then there’s her husband, Franco. Together, they have three children, Berto, Gloria, and Enrique…”

They weren’t sure how long they sat together, talking about their family. Imelda told him everything she could think of and he drank it all in, the light behind his eyes becoming brighter with every word. He still needed to get to know the rest of the family in the Land of the Dead, she realized. She told him a few details, such as how Julio was a good husband to Coco and how Victoria would still seem cold and distant, even after he got to know her. However, she knew he would love learning all about his family members first hand.

It wasn’t until they noticed the light changing and the stars beginning to appear in the sky that they decided to head back.

[-]

“Where have you two been?” Oscar called from the doorway as they walked up to the Rivera residence. Dante sat by his leg, barking happily.

“This just came via alebrije mail,” Filipe added, holding up a letter. “It’s for you.” He handed the letter to Héctor and they all stepped inside.

“I didn’t know they could do that,” Héctor said, flipping the letter over in his hand.

“Well, I guess no one’s ever tried,” Oscar replied. “It’s not every day a living boy crosses over and back again.”

Héctor opened the envelope and read the first few lines. “It’s from Miguel.”

_Dear Papá Héctor (and everyone else),_

_I hope this works. Even if it doesn’t, I figured it was worth a try. I’ll just start with the most important thing._

_WE HAVE A PHOTO!!!_

_Mamá Coco kept the picture of Héctor’s face that was torn off of Mamá Imelda’s photo and we put it back together. It’s all framed and ready to go for next year._

_I’ve been grounded for 2 weeks for running away, but that’s okay since I’ve been spending all my time with Mamá Coco. She’s been talking a lot more. She asks me to play for her and it seems like every time I do, she remembers something. She’s been telling the family all about you! I didn’t know you could juggle too! Oh, and she kept your letters from when she was little. You doodled on the corners. I do that too in my notebooks for school._

_Anyway, I hope this message gets to you, or at least someone in the family. If it does, can you write back? I just need to know I wasn’t too late. And if I was, can someone please tell me?_

_Love, Miguel._

Tears shown in his eyes by time he finished. “Héctor?” Imelda said, placing her hands on his shoulders and peaking at the letter.

“He is just the best little Chamaco in the world,” Héctor said, still looking at the letter, eyes glistening.   
“How did I get so lucky?”

Imelda gently turned his face toward her. “He has a lot of you in him.” It was true. She always thought so.

Héctor quickly wiped the tears from his eyes. “Well, I can’t keep him worrying. Where do you guys keep the pens? I have a very important letter to write.”

[-]

“Miguel, your street dog is back!” Rosa shouted from the courtyard. Miguel put down his homework and went outside to see Rosa holding boxes of shoes away from the curious dog. “No, no. These shoes are not for chewing,” she said, trying to guide the dog away with her foot.

“Dante, come here,” Miguel called and the dog bounded up to him, proudly holding a roll of paper in his teeth. “What’ve you got?”

Dante barked happily when Miguel took the paper from his mouth.

_Chamaco,_

_I lived! Or, I guess, I’m still dead. But I didn’t fade and that’s all thanks to you. You are the best great-great grandson anyone can ask for._

_I’m so happy to know my Coco is doing well. I hope you’re putting on a good show for her. I can’t wait to see her and the rest of my beautiful family next Dia de los Muertos, which is, again, all thanks to you. And of course I can juggle! Do you think you have an untalented great-great grandpa?_

_More good news. Your Mamá Imelda invited me to come live with the rest of the family. I don’t know if I’ll be much help around the shop, but I’ll try. I’m going to get to know all of the other family members and I’m going to start right now. This is all I’ve ever wanted, and, again, I have you to thank._

_I love you, Chamaco,_

_Papá Héctor._


End file.
